


[Untitled]

by randomscientist



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, here be crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 10:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10512156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomscientist/pseuds/randomscientist
Summary: Because 01 April seems like a good day for transferring some randomness from Tumblr (@randombiochemist).'Chapters' unrelated.- Pub trips and drinking games- What Mr Obvious saves on his phone- AU where Sherlock is FBI agent- Trope that time could be rewritten





	1. Drinking Games

You never know what a game of Never Have I Ever can (surprisingly) uncover. As it turns out,  _someone_ wasn’t _nearly_ as inexperienced — heart and body considered — as everyone had thought.

Sherlock had always been extremely reluctant to join their Friday evening pub trips. After tonight, however, Lestrade was beginning to think that at least part of the reason had nothing to do with the Consulting Detective being “busy with work” as he so insisted.

Perhaps next time they should try Truth or Dare, thought the Detective Inspector, as he helped John drag a heavily inebriated Sherlock towards the cab they’d hailed.

How absolutely priceless would it be, to have the Posh Boy text something _interesting_ to that secret _girlfriend_ of his.


	2. Mr Obvious

John swears he sometimes sees Sherlock, of all people, _blushing_ whilst he checks his phone. Very sporadic, these instances, without any preluding sound or other indication that a text or Twitter notification has been received.

He’d take it out in between cases, with a level of nonchalance that almost seems..theatrical. He only does it when he (obviously) thinks John’s attention is focused elsewhere (shouldn’t Sherlock I’m-so- _bloody_ -clever Holmes know full well that vision is possible through just the corner of one’s eye?).

He’d gaze at whatever is displayed on the screen for a moment too long, and swiftly slips his phone back into his pocket upon the slightest movement from John. And the man talks endlessly about _other_ people being transparent!

Why not just wait until John has left the room, wonders the doctor and former soldier, before he realises, hell, Sherlock probably (most definitely) _does_ , with the few occasions that John happens to have witnessed being tip of the iceberg, when Sherlock is simply unable to resist! God knows if that’s not what the consulting detective eagerly occupies the majority of his time with when he’s alone.

John isn’t stupid. He _will_ make Sherlock uncover his secret, someday. Although, on second thought, he isn’t sure he wants to know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #Irene took nudes on Sherl's phone  
> #and Sherl has kept them saved..
> 
> Spin-off from potential future story (?) by @goddessdel.   
> Please refer to her and @francesca-wayland's comments on this post by @dinnerxx, for idea credits: http://dinnerxx.tumblr.com/post/158051107671/normal-people-borrows-crushs-cellphone-and


	3. FBI Agent(s) AU

**Part I.**

*inserts the awesome _Mr & Mrs Smith_ Adlock manip*

AU where Irene Adler is the greatest thief the world has never seen, recognised only by her red lipstick-marked calling card. Sherlock “I’m brilliant and I work alone” Holmes is an FBI agent newly assigned to the case, as lead investigator.

He predicted the location of the next heist, set up traps in the building, and waited in his car outside. He heard the alarm, and rushed inside feeling smug, only to find the police officers he’d planted on different floors all handcuffed and unconscious. He chased up to the rooftop, found her standing gracefully at the edge with a tube (the painting!) slung over her back, and yelled “Freeze! You have nowhere to go”.

She was a little bit impressed, turned around, partially pulled off her mask, smirked, and unzipped her coat, revealing tight form-fitting black clothes with harness and carabiners and rope. “No, stop!” When his mind and voice resumed function again and he began sprinting towards her, she took one step backwards and disappeared from sight.

His only consolation was that the painting she took was a forged one that he’d replaced with. (She was definitely impressed when she found out though she wouldn’t admit it. Her friend Kate is the expert that she pays to verify artworks and gems for her.) But a few days later he was emergency-called to the mansion where the original painting was relocated to. There was an empty frame. And an additional note on her calling card, “Nice try. Till the next time, Mr Holmes.”

(She’s excellent with not only heists but also conning/swindling, disguised her way into a corporate wine event and knew what someone liked. “Why don’t you come to my place for another drink. Maybe I’ll even show you my art collection. I’ve recently acquired a fabulous new addition.” Was the invitation, in a slurred voice whilst a sweaty hand moved to the side of her leg exposed by her dress.)

End of first Irene/Sherlock encounter.

Subsequent meetings involved, amongst other things, a fist fight in a room of gems (she’d distracted him and swung her foot in contact with his hand, sending his gun flying, and punched his stomach, “Are you not fighting back because you’re trying to be a gentleman? Or because you don’t want to embarrass yourself for your lack of fighting skills without a weapon?”), a stolen car (his, gone alongside his FBI ID badge), and an explosion at a diamond heist (in which he thought she was bombed to pieces together with the lift that she hadn’t escaped from).

But Irene’s attention-seeking heists were for a reason. (Something terrible happened in her childhood, consequent of a mistake and cover-up made by the FBI.) It wasn’t for the money. She was angry at anything associated with the government, and she was tired of following rules. And her spite aside, she needed to make the suitable (criminal) connections, acquire information, get closer to the truth she was seeking, pinpoint the person in authority that was responsible, and..revenge.

Jim was one of her connections. She’d asked him to hack into the FBI file system with his IT skills, but case evidence and reports from 20 years ago were apparently stored on paper only. And to access the physical archive, locked behind layers of security and in a building full of federal agents, would be impractical even for her. She thanked Jim for trying and didn’t let disappointment show. Overnight pondering and a deep breath later, a decision was made.

Irene entered an art gallery that evening and set the alarm ringing. Amongst the police officers flooding in was Sherlock, surprised and confused.

She had herself arrested and negotiated a deal to be partners with Agent Holmes. (Mary Watson, psychologist for the FBI, was sent to ‘talk’ to her. “So tell me about your family or friends, you must’ve had someone helping you with everything.” Giving one defiant non-answer after another, Irene leaned back in her chair, “I’d like to speak to your boss, the director of this agency branch. Tell him that I have a proposition he should consider.”)

Irene: “My point, Director Lestrade, is that I can help you, as a consultant. It is not unprecedented for criminals, such as myself, to join an agent on cases. I have an insight that you cannot teach an agent, and you will find my expertise invaluable.” But Irene shook her head when Lestrade suggested partnering her with a senior agent who’d had such prior experience. “If you don’t mind, I would prefer to be partnered with one agent in particular. I think the situation would work out much better. For one, I know he doesn’t have a partner. And for another..” She smiled, “We have a certain..understanding about each other.”

Later, Lestrade: “You have a huge amount of potential, Sherlock.. I know you’ve preferred to work alone but I’ve been wondering, would assigning you a partner, one that seems to be just as cunning as you are, allow you to achieve even greater heights? Agent Holmes, I’d like you to meet your new partner.” And leaning against the door frame, a GPS tracker on her ankle and a smirk on her face, was Irene.

“No. No! I refuse.” Protested Sherlock. “Well, it’s a good thing that I am not asking for your opinion.” “This is ridiculous.” “Ridiculous or not, Agent Holmes, she is now your responsibility. Go and talk to people on the seventh floor, they’ll tell you more about the arrangement.” Lestrade said in finality before gesturing for Sherlock and Irene to leave. *inserts the  _Not Our Division_ GIF*

First day of the arrangement. He watched in fascination as she broke into a safe as part of an investigation. Her fingers on the dial, turning it one click at a time, ear to the spot her hand was over, eyes closed, a look of concentration on her face, and her body still. Until a small smile stretched on her face and her eyes danced with triumph. She threw the door to the safe open and he was impressed (as was everyone else in the room) but he didn’t show it.

(There had been a break-in and they were summoned to the scene. The safe was closed, only the owner knew the combination, but he was taken to the bureau for questioning and the police hadn’t asked him to go over his inventory before he left. Irene quirked an eyebrow and went “Shall I just do it?” Sherlock initially said no but he had to admit that it’d save them hours of time waiting for someone with the info or qualifications to arrive.)

Second day. Together they took down two bank robbers. Irene was the epitome of grace. Bank manager to Sherlock: “That’s some partner you’ve got there.” Sherlock just continued to watch her.

First kiss was whilst on an undercover operation. (A valuable piece of jewellery was stolen from the collection the day after it was sold in an auction, the first half of a two-day annual event. They deduced that the thief would still be present on the second day.)

Sherlock fidgeted with his bow tie as he was discussing the plan with John, whose team would be in a surveillance van around the corner, for backup if required. Irene came into view, gorgeous dress highlighting her curves, classy and elegant, stilettos clicking on the linoleum flooring, turning heads as she walked by. Sherlock swallowed.

“Hi, I’m Phil.” Irene took Anderson’s outstretched hand but instead of shaking it he brought it to his lips and kissed it. Glaring at the back of Anderson’s head, Sherlock cleared his throat, “Don’t you need to be in the van? Setting up the _equipment_?” Anderson glanced at him, about to say something, but the look on Sherlock’s face must’ve changed his mind because he dropped Irene’s hand without another word.

Some bidding and deductions (break-in must be ongoing, thieves getting past security by taking advantage of the blocked wireless, which was for discouraging outsiders from contributing to the auction – unfortunately, this also meant that our duo’s earpiece didn’t work and John’s team couldn’t receive signal) later, Sherlock and Irene made their way through hallways towards the vault, Irene using her hairpin to tinker with locks at closed doors.

Around one last corner would be the vault but they heard the thieves talking and shared a glance. These people were likely armed. At the sound of footsteps approaching, Irene whispered “Sherlock, follow my lead.” And before he could react, she pulled him down to her by the lapels of his suit jacket and connected his lips to hers.

He was immediately lost, mind swirling and blurry, heart beating in his ears at an increasing rate, nerves feeling as if on fire, consuming him and making it impossible to concentrate on anything except her soft lips on his. Without thinking he backed her up until her back was pressed against the wall, his hands resting on either side of her face, their lips moving in synch.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Came a voice behind them. And Sherlock was reminded of the situation they were in. Irene broke away and his lips mourned the contact as he attempted to focus. He briefly saw the man hide his gun behind his back, clearly not thinking of them as a threat and not wanting them to begin yelling.

“Gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think there’d be anyone back here. We were simply trying to find somewhere private. He works here and he had a key, so I thought..” She giggled, it was very un-Irene.

“You need to leave. Now.” The man’s tone was threatening, but Irene didn’t miss a beat. “All right.” She held her hands up in mock surrender as she started turning around. Her eyes met Sherlock’s for an instant and he saw something flash in them.

The second the man’s eyes went away from her, Irene spun back and shoved him against the nearest wall, gripping his throat just below the chin. Sherlock immediately took a step forward and pinned the man’s arms to his body just as he was about to grab her off of him. Irene kept her hand at his throat, an intense look on her face. Approx. ten seconds later, the man was sagging against the wall, unconscious. (Irene cut off blood flow to his head with the pressure applied to his carotid arteries.)

Sherlock picked up the dropped gun and looked to Irene. The memory of what had occurred between them moments before came rushing back. He opened his mouth, uncertain of what to say. But she didn’t seem fazed at all, and it made him a little angry that she could be completely unaffected. He chose to say nothing, hardened his expression, and held the gun tight. “Get behind me.” He told her quietly.

 

**Part II.**

(Several days after Part I.)

“You never listen do you?” Hissed Sherlock as he strode to Irene, furious, “I told you to stay put, and of course you chose to run after him! You could’ve–”

“I could’ve what!” She interjected, looking up at him in defiance, arms crossed and impatient.

“You could–”

“What, Sherlock! What is it that you’re insisting I could’ve done, because I honestly don’t think there was a single alternative that would’ve stopped him from getting away! ”

“You could’ve got yourself killed!” He yelled. Realising that he was now gripping her shoulders, their proximity alarming, he dropped his hands and turned around abruptly, striding out of the alley.

>>>>

A few hours later, they were back at the headquarters, separately being angry at each other. Sherlock was in his office on the 19th floor whereas Irene ended up in a lift with John, who was carrying a box of files and clearly heading to the lower levels (i.e. opportunity for Irene to see the FBI archives and assess the security).

John cleared his throat and went, “So I heard about what happened today.” Irene gave him a quirked-eyebrow look. John chuckled, “I take it you two are always at each other’s throats?” “It’s not uncommon, no.” Then silence for a few minutes.

“He seems to like you, you know. Sherlock. That outburst today wasn’t because you didn’t follow orders. It was because he was scared. Of losing you.”

That evening Sherlock arrived at his flat and found Irene leaning against his door, waiting.

“I suppose I should be grateful that you didn’t just break in. If you could please move, I’d like to get inside.” Irene stepped aside and watched him turn his key, his brow was constricted and his jaw was set. He pushed the door open and stepped through. Irene swiftly slipped in behind him.

“Is there a reason you’re following me?” He asked, slight hint of bitterness in his tone.

“I thought we could talk about what happened today, as you obviously think I did something wrong.” Irene crossed her arms.

“You did. You completely ignored my order. Your job is to provide insight into the criminal mind, it is _mine_ to chase them down and arrest them.”

“What difference does it make whether it is you or I who catches them, if it leads to the same result?”

“The difference, is that I am armed and trained to take them down, whereas _you_ , run after them without thinking.” He clenched his teeth. (Sherlock was not being very reasonable here. Irene’s far from careless in her actions. The incident earlier that day just was a dangerous situation and he was worried.)

Their argument continued and was becoming increasingly heated when she snapped, “Well _I_ don’t need a badge and a weapon to be able to do what I know is right. And I can take care of myself as I make my way in the world, Sherlock. I’ve been doing it for a long time.” She headed towards the door, her hand inches away from the handle.

“How would you know anything about what is right or wrong? You are a criminal. Your parents would’ve been proud if they were alive. Knowing that the daughter they raised is a professional thief and is taking foolish risks so that she can get herself killed just like they probably were.” (I should mention that no one knew Irene’s backstory or her real purpose for cooperating with the FBI. Not even Sherlock, despite having his suspicions.)

Everything in her halted, body and mind. She felt as if she had been slapped. She turned back to him, flames in her eyes.

“Wait, I.. I am sorry. Irene. I didn’t mean that.” He suddenly looked uncertain, all traces of anger leaving his eyes.

Irene: ( _Screw calm._ )

“Irene.. I’m sorry. Please, could we–”

She swiftly closed the distance between them, her fist already swinging towards him. It made contact with his cheekbone and she ignored the pain spreading through her hand. She allowed the anger and hate and pain that she was feeling to drive her as she continued to throw punches at him.

Sherlock grabbed one of her wrists trying to stop her. Irene drove the elbow of her other arm into his stomach. Air was driven from his lungs as he groaned. She freed her wrist and continued her assault.

He blocked her right fist. But when her left followed up, not only did he misguide it past his torso, his own hand also made an instinctual offensive move, swinging towards her.

He realised what he was doing and opened his fist, the instant before contact, a last-second attempt at lessening the blow. But she stumbled back a step, pain spreading over her cheek.

“It was an accident!” He held up his palms, his expression genuinely apologetic.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Irene.” He warned.

She went at him again in fury. He was focused on stopping her throws, not noticing her leg sweeping under him. He did, however, manage to grip one of her wrists, pulling her down with him.

They hit the floor, and before Irene could react, Sherlock rolled and pinned her beneath him with his body weight, gripping her wrists above her head.

Both were breathing heavily as he looked straight at her while she struggled, his face inches from hers. “I am sorry.” He said firmly. She could see the sincerity in his eyes.. Along with something else.

After a few moments she could feel the hatred flowing away, with each passing second. Her brow relaxed and she stopped struggling to free her hands. She saw his eyes briefly glance down at her lips before returning to hers. She watched as his face slowly became closer, his eyes never leaving hers.

And then he was kissing her. Her hands slid out of his grip and trailed down until they were wrapped around his neck, holding him to her.

Sherlock pulled away first, heart rate accelerated, a growing panic in his eyes as they searched hers. He started to shift his weight off of her. Irene’s lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. Immediately she took hold of his shirt and brought him back, connecting their lips once again.

Emotions he could not identify were rushing to the surface of his mind, controlling his actions. Everything that he had previously ignored and pushed aside because he did not know how to deal with, was being unleashed. All he wanted to feel and could feel was her. Something inside him, something that had perhaps been there all along, was taking over.

She gripped tightly to him and rolled them so that she was straddling his waist.

Whatever was happening, it was electric and magnetic. Compulsive. He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to stop it. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He couldn’t recollect how, but at some point they managed to migrate from the floor, when soon what they were doing wasn’t enough. Far from enough. An ensuing frenzy led to buttons skittering across the floor, along with irritating pieces of clothing that formed the only remaining obstacles between them.

Her back hit a wall as he continued his assault on her neck, his hand gripping her waist, driven by an indescribable force.

It was as if an imaginary steel cord within him, one that had resisted and resisted against gradated tension, had finally snapped, and there was no hope of returning.

She pushed him back and they stumbled into the next room, twisting and turning, without breaking contact. She felt the back of her knees hit something and fell backwards onto soft duvet. He fell with her, the vertigo sweeping them up once more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An outline of about half of an AU that will not be turned into a proper story. Sorry..


	4. All Roads Lead to Rome

Last he knew, he was on holiday with Irene. In Italy. But Sherlock awakes at 221B, to the case of the hiker and the driver. The one that he'd solved without leaving the flat, several years ago. The day that saw him in Buckingham Palace, wrapped in a bed sheet. That ended with an encounter in Belgravia, marking a dramatic turn in the trajectory of his life. A winding path that, not without difficulty (each small step frequently associated with two backwards), eventually led him – _them_ – to.. a state he was content with.

He cannot have imagined all that.. Can he? Yet the alternative, that he has somehow experienced reverse time travel, seems equally implausible. Either way, he is apparently presented with.. not only an opportunity to retrace the intricate path he (thought he had) once trod through with respect to The Woman, but the liberty to amend their story as he wishes. And any small change in the way he lives his life this time round could potentially rewrite the entire trajectory thereafter. Hm.. Would he?

A wry smile tugs at a corner of his mouth. Why not.


End file.
